I’d love to say
Like a sad little romantic,
“Remember when I used to be your priority? I do.”
But the issue with that is
I never was.
Like a jacket forgotten and hung over the back of the seat in first period Chemistry,
I am forgotten.
Like the red car that goes too fast on the highway late at night,
I am reckless.
Like china dolls in your mother’s keepsake cabinet in the middle of an earthquake,
I am broken.